


Fragility

by shearwater (mniotilta)



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6276391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mniotilta/pseuds/shearwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not Mikleo who is fragile. It’s Sorey.</p>
<p>(Mostly vague) spoilers for the end of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meebsie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meebsie/gifts).



> I'm not sure which Sorey Mikleo AO3 tag ship thing is more appropriate because I'm not sure how I ship them myself? I think Sorey is definitely on the aro/ace spectrums, I'm just not sure how exactly I headcanon it so I tagged both because it doesn't really matter to me if you want to interpret this as platonic or romantic or whatever. 
> 
> I've only had the chance to play Zestiria once since getting it (and that was months ago), so if there's any world-building that contradicts in game I'm sorry, I haven't done all the skits/sidequests.

“Look at how small your wrists are!” Zaveid whistles, laughing. “You’re just so diminutive. No wonder Edna picks on you, huh?”  
  
Mikleo doesn’t respond, he’s used to waving off these comments, swatting them away like flies.  
  
“I know, isn’t it cute?” Sorey responds. “He’s got a small waist, too!” And with that Sorey grabs Mikleo to prove his point, his fingers nearly wrapping the circumference of Mikleo’s small body.  
  
“Okay, I’m smaller than you two, sure, whatever, but that doesn’t make me fragile!”  
  
I’m not the one who is fragile, he wants to add, but he holds his tongue as Lailah interrupts their conversation with another topic.  
  
I’m not the one who is fragile, he thinks. He frowns a little, and looks to his right side.  
  
It’s Sorey.

* * *

Mikleo worries, sometimes, that the reason why Sorey pushes himself so hard is because of him.  
  
Seraphim don’t need to sleep. Seraphim don’t need to eat or drink. Seraphim don’t get stricken with illness.  
  
And he knew that, Gramps told both of them the differences between the two races once they were old enough to understand. Sorey, we don’t need to sleep, so if you get tired, you need to rest. Sorey, we don’t feel hunger the same way you do, so if you’re hungry, you need to eat. Sorey, if you don’t feel well, you have to look after yourself, because we can’t judge these things. We can guess how you’re feeling, but we can’t tell for certain. Be gentle with yourself, because you are so much more fragile than we are.  
  
It isn’t like Sorey doesn’t know, but he’s still bad at taking care of himself. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t want people to worry about him, covering up his pains, but it only makes Mikleo worry more.  
  
When they’ve stayed up late and Mikleo catches him nodding off, trying his best to stay awake so he can keep reading, Mikleo is the one who mentions that he's kind of sleepy. It’s Mikleo who often forces him to lie down when Sorey can’t keep his quill straight when he’s writing notes. It’s Mikleo who suggests that they read in bed, knowing that the moment Sorey finds himself in the sheets that he’ll collapse and start dozing.  
  
“Honestly,” Mikleo will sigh, wrapping his small fingers around Sorey’s sleeping body, “I don’t know what to do with you.”  
  
He sleeps too, but it’s because he wants to, and because Sorey is warm.

* * *

And so their whole lives are intertwined with each other. Over years of being there, day after day,  Mikleo instinctively knows now when Sorey is hungry. Sorey doesn’t have to say anything most of the time, Mikleo just knows. Sorey had a light breakfast, so he’ll be hungry earlier. We snacked a lot today, dinner doesn’t have to be filling.  
  
“Honestly,” Mikleo grumbles between his teeth as he stitches up a long gash Sorey got during their ruin exploration, “you have to be more careful.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Sorey winces, “I know. I’m sorry.”

* * *

He wonders what it must be like, to have tired bloodshot eyes and to be so famished that you tear into food that quickly. What is it like? What does it feel like to be human? Sorey tries to explain to him the way these simple things make him feel but Mikleo doesn't fully understand.  
  
Sorey starts coughing. It’s just dust, he says.  
  
The next day he’s coughing more. Probably just allergies, he shrugs.  
  
The third day, and he’s bedridden, feverish, every breath is labored and painful. Even with magic and medicine, he’s still so ill. Gramps says the only thing they can do is wait and do their best to make him comfortable while his body fights.  
  
“Mikleo,” Sorey wheezes.  
  
“What do you need?”  
  
“Nothing. I’m just… kinda scared.”  
  
Mikleo finds one of his hands and interlocks their fingers. Sorey’s palm is sweaty and his fingers barely have enough strength to grasp back.  
  
“You’re going to be okay,” Mikleo smiles, stroking Sorey’s hair with his other hand. “Honestly. Trust me.”  
  
“When have I ever not?”  
  
“Don’t talk, just try to relax.”  
  
And as Sorey finally drifts off to sleep, Mikleo curls around him, like a dragon protecting its hoard, staying awake to monitor his vital signs and to whisper prayers into the open air.

* * *

It isn’t like Sorey isn’t capable. He’s knowledgeable, he’s skilled, he can do nearly all the things that Mikleo can do and some things that Mikleo can’t. It isn’t like Mikleo thinks that he’s immune from being vulnerable—because he most certainly is. Sorey has saved him from danger, Sorey has wiped away his tears, Sorey has collected confessions and statements of vulnerability from Mikleo as long as they both can remember. It isn’t like their relationship only goes one way, it isn’t like they’re mismatched. But it’s still different, the give and take, the bond between a Seraphim and a human.  
  
Most of their fights go like this:  
  
“I don’t want you to worry about me as much as you do. I love you, Mikleo, and you have to look out for yourself, too. I worry that you don’t sometimes.”  
  
“But Sorey, I do worry, and you can’t stop me from worrying, because I love you, too.”  
  
Mikleo, I’m not as fragile as you think I am.  
  
But you are, Sorey.  
  
You are so very fragile.

* * *

A conversation, when they were both younger:  
  
“Seraphim can ultimately live forever. There are dangers of course, but most Seraphim are incredibly long-lived.”  
  
“Hey, Gramps, do humans live forever, too?”  
  
“No, they don’t, and it is much easier for a human to die.”  
  
It’s a hard reality to face, a hard pill to swallow, but it's one Zenrus can’t keep from them forever.

* * *

In the dark, Sorey rolls over, and Mikleo knows what’s coming next, as he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, gently prodding him.  
  
“Mikleo, are you awake?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Can we talk?”  
  
He shifts, turns around, and nudges closer. “Yeah. What’s up?”  
  
“I want to talk to you about some stuff.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Are you going to be okay?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“When I'm gone, are you going to be okay?”  
  
And Mikleo can't tell him that it's preposterous to think that they won't be together or that it's an unfounded concern. It's an uncomfortable truth, one that makes Mikleo squirm. He wishes it were so simple that they could share lifespans, but by the time Sorey’s life ends, Mikeo will still be only a child in the eyes of most Seraphim. He will live the duration of Sorey’s lifespan thousandfold. There is no chance of them being together forever, like they once promised each other as children.  
  
But Sorey’s concern isn't a lament that things are stacked against them. He's accepted it, that Mikleo will live a long life without him. It's the way things are and there's no changing that. He worries about Mikleo's life more than he does his own.  
  
Will you be lonely? Will you find others to support you? Can you find other people to share your life with? Do you recognize that you're allowed to find other loves? Do you know that even when I am gone I will still care, which is why I ask this question of you now; will you be alright, Mikleo? Because I want your life to be good, I want your life to always be good.  
  
“... Can we talk outside?”  
  
“Yeah.”

* * *

Sorey shivers in the night air, Mikleo feels bad for pulling him out of bed, but they sit outside the steps of their house and listen to the sounds of the night. Owls, crickets, the buzzing of the cool breeze and dull thunder cracking miles away.  
  
“I know it's hard, but we should talk about it,” Sorey breathes.  
  
“Honestly,” Mikleo sighs, “I can't say for certain, because I've never been without you before. I don’t know what life would be like. I think it will be hard, for a while. But it'll be okay. Remember when our favorite goat died? And we were really upset for a long time? And even though we still miss her, we're okay? I'm sure having you die will be worse, but I think it's kind of the same thing. It'll hurt my whole life, but it'll get easier over time. Sorry.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“That we have to have this conversation to begin with. It isn't fair.”  
  
The milky glow of the stars across the horizon swirls above their heads.

* * *

It isn’t fair, he says to himself as Sorey burdens himself with the weight of the world.  
  
Sorey grows more capable, much stronger, faster, wiser, but he still sleeps for three days straight after fighting the dragon Tiamat with Rose. Mikleo sits next to him, sleeps next to him, and outlines the bruises littering his body and the dirt and sweat caked on his skin. He looks so gentle, so tired, so weary, but Mikleo knows that despite everything that’s happened, Sorey is happy. They’re both happy, if only for a moment, in the face of their own demise.  
  
Their last night in Lastonbell doesn’t feel like the end. The sky looks just the same as it does back home, the smell of Sorey’s hair, the warmth of his touch, his hearty laughter, the taunts they fling back and forth—it’s all familiar, so perfect. They wish, deep in their hearts, that they could spend their whole lives in this small fraction of time, among celebration and friends, dancing on the cobblestone streets on a night that'll never end, a night that is warm, a night where they look at each other and momentarily forget the brutal journey they've endured to reach this droplet of happiness.  
  
“It’s not the end,” Mikleo says, out of nowhere.  
  
“No,” Sorey shakes his head. “It isn’t. It won’t be.”  
  
I won’t allow it to be.

* * *

To Mikleo, Sorey still just the same, odd soul that he was at the beginning of the journey, with his toothy grin and all his imperfections glaringly obvious. He's grown, he's fallen, he's stood back up and kept on fighting in the face of the inevitable. Death and corruption have touched him, held his hands and walked with him, but as Sorey the Shepherd takes his last steps, he has the same simple heart beating within his chest that's always been there. Darkness has only made him lighter.  
  
No matter what becomes of them, Mikleo will always find him fragile—for you treat fragile things with such care, making sure they don’t falter, don’t wobble, don’t fall and break to pieces. Fragile things are precious, they are loved, and that’s exactly what Mikleo wishes to convey to him.  
  
“You are so very loved,” are the last words that Mikleo says before he’s whisked away.  
  
Sorey sadly smiles back.  
  
Everything goes dark.

* * *

“You are loved,” is the phrase Mikleo repeats every time he leaves the cliff side, spoken in the direction of where Sorey continues to sleep. Sometimes he shouts it across the crater, hoping that Sorey can hear those words in his dreams. Other times he whispers it, sounding like the slurred whistling of birdsong from far, far away. Edna teased him about this ritual the first time she accompanied him alone, to which Mikleo didn’t respond, only gazing outward at the white light before turning away. She understood. She stopped. She decided not to tease him about this anymore. She begins saying the phrase at Eizen’s grave, her mouth hidden by her over-sized umbrella. It makes her feel better.  
  
She imagines it makes Mikleo feel better, too.

* * *

So when Mikleo, through blurred vision, catches Sorey’s outline above him, a form he finds unmistakable, he bursts into tears and cries from relief, from reunion. Sorey has become a Seraphim, a secret wanting that Sorey had tucked inside his chest once he discovered it was possible to be born anew. All his dreams have been answered, all of his fantastical wishing on Elysian falling stars has paid off, he's toiled and worked and been asleep for centuries, and now he's ready to live again. It’s done. It’s over.  
  
“You don’t have to worry as much anymore,” are the words Sorey says about his new form, to which Mikleo laughs.  
  
“I’ll always worry,” he sniffs, drying his eyes against Sorey’s shoulder, “because you are loved.”  
  
“Then we’ll both be fragile,” he hums, hugging Mikleo tighter.  
  
“Because you are loved, too.”


End file.
